Before they were special guests at the millennial sob fest that was The Postal Service and Death Cab for Cutie anniversary tour, Slow Pulp shed their fair share of tears. That they've risen to such great heights is miraculous considering the dark cloud that's followed them to Chicago, where they're now based.

Compared to the illness and disaster that plagued prior recordings, the circumstances surrounding their third album and second for Anti- are uneventful. Perhaps that's why they felt the need to shake things up themselves. It's slightly uneven, but hums with the confidence of a band that's coming into their own.

Slow Pulp have played together in some capacity since high school, but they've yet to decide what kind of indie rockers they want to be. While their debut captured a sizeable audience with its lo-fi take on 2010's dream pop, the sequel won over critics by flashing back to '90s alternative rock and country. Not to be outdone, changes key not once but three times.

The album begins with back-to-back strolls through indie-folk's peace and quiet, and it's a little underwhelming – but only at first. The rosy nostalgia of "Yellow and Green" resonates much deeper once you know where the tracklist is headed, beyond the banjo bending underneath the mundane "These Days".

Along with personal shortcomings, any lingering association with grungegaze is washed away by "Better Man" in a burst of '80s guitar tone. But is better for not zeroing in on one particular lane of indie. Credit Slow Pulp for yielding some control to outside producer Elliott Kozel, who unlocks a hidden second gear.

"Red Car" races toward life's next station like a well-oiled new wave machine, powered by Teddy Mathews' go-go beat and the supercharged bass of Alex Leeds. I just wish the band stayed in the album's speedier lane for longer. Their affinity for Bruce Hornsby is appreciated, but when they downshift into slowcore, the album's third and final stretch starts to drag. Though perfectly fine on its own, "Like Me" fades into a distant memory when followed by "Spill", which finds the right level of distortion to convey the same loss.

Still, as critical issues go, the improper pacing is minor. Slow Pulp compensate by keeping track of their emotions, and it's not until enters the home stretch that the band's hopes and fears come full circle. "I won't forget the past," Emily Massey bares on its closing ballad, "I don't think I'd let myself do that."

If the album has but one star, it's her. She sells the title track's punkish rebellion with a well-timed "ugh." "I know I want you to meet me where I am," Massey asserts on "Up To You", an almost glacial slow burner but with a melody that never wavers. But guitarist Henry Stoehr also makes a bigger mark this time around, stepping up to take more of a role in the songwriting, like how it used to be with Slow Pulp back home in Wisconsin.

Often, their attention is trained backwards, but they're never lost to time. And if they keep progressing like they do on , pretty soon a lot more people will be humming to their tune.